


Endings

by ReaderRose



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dadster, Death, Everything Is Sad And Terrible, Family, Fate, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Illnesses, Major Illness, POV W. D. Gaster, Parallel Universes, Predestination, Sans is only mentioned, Terminal Illnesses, The Void
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaderRose/pseuds/ReaderRose
Summary: Unfortunately, only Papyrus is capable of miracles……and even then, perhaps it was just the one.(Based on Hyperdynamal Thaumic Disorder AU)





	Endings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hyperdynamal Thaumic Disorder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827993) by [AnonJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonJ/pseuds/AnonJ), [ReaderRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaderRose/pseuds/ReaderRose). 



> SO. This thing. I was originally trying to write this as a Hurt/Comfort Papyrus-heavy thing, but Dadster was enjoying having the limelight for the very first time, so it turned into a sad.
> 
> The working title ended up being "Gaster Is Very Great And Also His Sons Are Gonna Die" so... that's basically what you should expect from this fanfic.
> 
> Based on Hyperdynamal Thaumic Disorder, namely the third chapter. This **won't** make sense without reading that.

Dr. Gaster had been a leading scientist, a brilliant mind, a monster whose own hubris could at times precede him, but could always back up every claim he'd ever made with extensive proof that he was right, and he knew precisely what to do. He had shattered across time and space, become a very part of the fabric of the universe itself and simultaneously erased entirely from existence, consciousness raging on even beyond the destruction of what might have one been considered himself. Dr. Gaster was magic and reality and physicality and nothingness and endless all at once and at some point or another in his experience of infinite worlds and it would not be unfair to say he was one of the most knowledgeable beings to ever exist on the moral plane, not would it be unfair to call him one of the most powerful beings ever exist. He had not meet any Gods in his time in the void, but he was certain he was the closest mere monsters had ever gotten to reaching divinity. 

There was only one soul greater than him, on a purely objective scale, and that was the monster who had done what no other, not even he, could do: bring him back from nonexistence and into the fold of reality once more.    
  


_ Papyrus.  _   
  


Papyrus had clipped his father's wings and brought him home in safety. It was an impossible task. That had not stopped him. 

It had come at a cost of course. All great things do. This was something Gaster understood. Papyrus did, too. 

And now Papyrus was sick. 

And weak. And frail. 

And dying. 

 

And unfortunately, only Papyrus was capable of miracles… 

  
  


…and even then, perhaps it was just the one. 

 

Dr. Windings Gaster was light and sound and magic itself, a strain on reality, existing inside it and out and no matter how brilliant his mind or how close to the gods he might have come in a dimension outside of time, he couldn't fix his son.

He couldn't even cheer him up.    
  


There were many timelines when Papyrus would grow strong again. Dr. Gaster knew this, because his consciousness existed across countless realities. There were timelines where Papyrus recovered on his own, many, in fact, because he was a strong boy. There were timelines where a cure was discovered, or a greater treatment, and Papyrus responded well in nearly every one of them. Statistically, it was downright laughable that the disorder dared even try to take The Great Papyrus down. With just a little aid, just a tiny advantage, a tumbling toddler step of scientific progress, Papyrus was capable of great, great things. Sometimes Papyrus did not improve much in physical condition, but made up for it in spirit, rising up to meet the mask he made for himself and exceeding it. And there were timelines where he struggled and was often unwell, but still pushed forward, still lived, still had so much time, still achieved so many things. 

Defeat was merely an outlier. It was hardly worthy of mention or note. Barely significant. 

The positive outcomes were endless. 

Gaster knew this as fact. Their number was massive and uncountable, and it was almost a blessing to know that in the grand scheme of things, the greater picture, the greater good, Papyrus was happy, healthy, safe, long lived, and dearly loved, with myriad adventures, endless achievements, and countless friends. In the grand scheme of things, Papyrus bathed in a shower of kisses every morning. In the grand scheme of things, the king would trim a hedge in the shape of his smile, and Papyrus's smile would match it as his sockets laid their gaze on it.

 

But not every timeline ended happily.

Not every Papyrus would live a long and accomplished life. 

 

Gaster could not choose the timeline he existed in, as technically he existed in all, and many, but this Gaster was here. He was rooted here, a part connected to the world through the sheer force of his son's will. Gaster couldn't choose. Gaster couldn't effect. He could only fill a predetermined script he had not chosen, and he could not deviate, because that was what he had chosen, and would choose. His knowledge could not change it, because his knowledge was already counted and discredited. 

Everything was decided. Everything. Gaster was merely the one aware of the end.    
  


This Gaster would live another 72 years and five months, an incredible length of time for a monster of all his circumstances. This Gaster would have another child, would take on a love for a while, would build a better CORE, would be listed in many history books. 

This Gaster would see his eldest son, Sans, die in exactly 4 years, 2 months, 9 days, and 14 hours of a highly preventable infection, likely exacerbated by a slovenly lifestyle and a preexisting condition. This Gaster would see his son, Papyrus, gone much sooner than that. 

 

Much, much sooner. 

 

Everything was already decided. 

 

He did not tell Papyrus, because it seemed cruel to say “you will never see the end of this week, son. It was nice to see you again. Adieu.” He did not tell Sans, because Sans could not understand things such as this, and he would try to stop it. 

No one could stop it. Everything was decided. 

This was simply fate that they were all a part of a bad ending, but in the end, wasn't it worth the sacrifice, knowing, statistically, it would all work out fine? 

Three of them would suffer, but billions of them would flourish and thrive. Anything that could change the fate of this timeline would threaten each and every other. 

Great things often required great sacrifices. And sometimes, it wasn't really even a choice. Technically, Gaster supposed, it was never a choice. 

Gaster looked to the visage of his sons, both deep in sleep's grasp, hand in hand as Sans refused to let go. Papyrus never looked more like death himself. The gloom that had taken his mind since his illness left him drained as it did still hung over him, even as he was deep into unconsciousness. 

 

He looked so little, lying in that racecar bed. He was too big for it. He had been for years, but he looked small regardless.

Powerless.

 

Papyrus had not left the bed since his return. 

He could have stayed at a hospital. He should have. But he insisted on going home. He had not said “to die” but everyone had heard it all the same. He'd taken three steps from the chair to the bed. He would never take another.

 

Everything was already decided. 

_ Powerless. _

 

Dr. Gaster did not want to give in to melodrama. He had made enough of this about himself. (It was a habit he could not break, though he wanted to.) But he was endless and strewn across time and space itself, full of infinite knowledge and understanding. He was practically a demigod. 

 

And he was the most powerless of them all. 

All he could do was hold his sons’ hands.

And wait. 

 

Everything was decided. 

 

Papyrus wasn't going to wake up. 

But he smiled in his slumber, and that felt like an accomplishment, more so than any of the others Gaster knew lay ahead of him in time.    
  


Across myriad worlds, Papyrus lived on, happy and safe, successful and loved. In some, he recovered. In others, he endured. Others, still, he was never sick at all. He suffered some heartaches and breaks, losses and failures, but also victories and triumphs, recoveries and love,  _ so much love. _ On a grand scale, there was more love than the old scientist could ever hope to match, but he tried, oh how he tried, hoping that perhaps in his final moments, Papyrus might feel just a taste of all the things he would see and do.

In the grand scheme of the universe, Papyrus had a happy ending. 

 

It was Gaster who suffered a bad one.

**Author's Note:**

> And with this I'm burnt out on Bad-Things-Happen-To-Papyrus. 
> 
> Maybe.  
> (The Kings Beneath The Mountain doesn't count. Hopefully that'll update soon)


End file.
